


The Holy Water You Have Been Without

by perlaret



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Action, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Galactic politics, Identity Issues, M/M, No Pre-Canon Acquaintance, Physical Intimacy Before Emotional Intimacy, Potentially Questionable Power Dynamics (To Start), What Does 'Redemption' Mean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:23:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7103227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perlaret/pseuds/perlaret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe Dameron transports a prisoner, Kylo Ren seeks solace, and peace in the galaxy remains to be found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Holy Water You Have Been Without

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reitoei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reitoei/gifts).



> Written as an extra fill for [The Ben x Poe Fanworks Exchange](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/knightpilotexchange/), because April and May were awful for my time management and I realized I couldn't finish in time and still have enough time for things like work and sleep. The prompt was as follows:
>
>>  
>> 
>> _Years after the events of TFA the war is over; Kylo Ren has been captured and his Force-sensitivity subdued. Poe is tasked with flying Kylo from his prison on a remote planet to the new Jedi Temple in the heart of the rebuilt Republic, where Rey, the only remaining Jedi, hopes to rehabilitate him. Kylo seeks companionship after his time in solitary and is unsure of his place in the world after so long under Snoke's thumb. Poe finds him attractive in spite of his history._  
> 
> 
> Title stolen wholesale from Fall Out Boy's _Fourth of July_. 

In what is quite possibly the most boring journey of Poe Dameron's career, it takes him 10 standard cycles to reach Inir.

Poe has seen more than his share of barely-hospitable planets in his life, but this one takes the cake. If you could call it a planet. Barely bigger than an especially large asteroid and caught up in the orbit of a tired red dwarf star, it's about as barren and desolate as they come. It's the sort of place that usually comes with an alphanumeric designation, not a name.

Turbulence makes the controls of The Reviler vibrate in his hands as Poe steers into the atmosphere, the cross winds buffeting the ship in unpredictable gusts as he angles for his landing coordinates. He grits his teeth and wrestles the freighter where he wants it – towards an irregular outcropping in the planet's rugged surface. There's  a low-lying compound built low in its shadow, though here everything is shadows. If someone's goal had been to choose the most miserable place in the galaxy possible to build a prison, Poe thinks, they sure chose well.

He can see the jagged pebbles skittering away through the front viewport of the ship as he brings it to the ground, fleeing from the lights of his landing gear and back into the gloominess. The gravity meters on the dash wobble as he touches down, and he can feel the way the simulators have been adjusting ever since he entered atmo, his limbs lighter as the machinery powers down and Inir's weaker pull comes into play. It's a perfectly passable reason to explain the unease in his stomach.

BB-8 chirps a question to him as Poe slowly switches off the controls.

"I need you to monitor all of the controls and stand by, buddy. Make sure it stays closed up for anybody but me," he says. "I've gotta handle this one on my own."

There's a brief whirl of dissatisfied binary that brings a smile to Poe's face as he collects two sets breathing gear. "I know, I know. I'll be careful. It'll be fine this time. I've got it," he says, and gives BB a reassuring pat on the dome of its head before he tugs his breather over his mouth and nose.

When he disembarks the ship, there's a light newly visible from the prison compound, a warm yellow that Poe honestly didn't expect. He shrugs his jacket in against the sharp wind and trudges the hundred or so meters for the entrance. It's impossible to miss the way an electrical field prickles the hair at the back of his neck as he approaches, or the surveillance cameras disguised as rocks or otherwise tucked into the outcroppings that frame the building. Poe can imagine the other various security measures that might also be in play here; the dossier he'd been given prior to this mission had rounded out those details sufficiently enough. The people who run this place take these things seriously.

Poe comes up to the entrance and peers up into the most obvious camera yet. There's a flicker of green light as his face is scanned and a moment later, the airlock doors open and he steps through.

The warden is waiting for him on the other side, a broad, gray skinned being who looks like her musculature is made out of durasteel and whose constitution is made up of something graver. The anteroom itself is sparse and metallic, with two adjoining doors further in that are both closed. Aside from the warden, the only other living being is tucked away in a cage near the ceiling closest to the farthest door. It's a lizard-like creature, a strange ochre in color and horned, laying across a loglike frame and its eyelids slitted in sleep. Poe pulls the apparatus from his face and focuses on the warden, offering a polite nod.

"Tan Ma, I take it?"

"Poe Dameron," she acknowledges, her three eyes narrowed. "You have arrived later than expected."

He feels his polite smile freeze into something a little more rote, but Poe otherwise doesn't bat an eye. "I apologize, there were some delays at the outset of my journey. I hope it hasn't inconvenienced your operations here too much."

"Any delay in scheduling is a security concern," Tan Ma says. "We have honored the General's request for discretion and waived a great many number of questions." It's less a statement than an implication of a perceived failure, the sort of thing that can throw a sensitive mission awry between one heartbeat and the next.

"The General is incredibly grateful for your assistance in this matter, and we have the greatest respect for your methods and requirements. In fact..." Poe reaches into his pocket and its impossible to miss the way she zeroes in on the proximity of his hand to the blaster on his hip. He withdraws a data chip, which he offers to the warden with as much good grace as he can muster upon being forced to use a contingency plan so soon. "To further express our gratitude, we took the liberty of a little additional research. We heard word that your people had some interest in ongoings around Menka III..."

For all of her otherwise physical bluntness, Tan Ma's fingers – well, Poe figures 'fingers' is a adequate enough description of what they are – are comparatively delicate and she takes the chip with great care. She holds it up to the light, and he thinks that it's approval that crosses her wide face.

"Express my thanks to the General," Tan Ma says with considerably less edge after a lengthy pause, slipping the gift into a pouch at her side. Less accusatory this time, she asks, "Out of curiosity, what were the delays?"

"Vigilante work. And political prisoners awaiting trial," Poe sighs. "Turns out some beings aren't content to wait for the typical due process justice entails. A transfer went bad and cleanup efforts were necessary." Mopping up after the First Order was a tall order in and of itself, even before one had to consider the deep wells of anger the rest of the galaxy harbored against their remnants. Between the Hosnian system disaster and the now widespread understanding that negligence had given Imperial supporters the time and space they needed to regroup the first time around, there were more than a few who were willing to take justice into their own hands.

Tan Ma grunts her derision. "The inner systems are bad for security," she says, as if that sums up the matter entirely. "But your prisoner is ready for transport. You brought your own air gear?" Poe offers the spare and she takes that as well. "Wait here."

There's nowhere to sit so Poe makes the best of standing about, though it takes a moment of indecision between falling back on his military training or just taking it easy. He settles for something in between, letting his back rest against the wall and folding his arms, but keeping a level eye on the portal through which Tan Ma had exited. The lizard creature in the corner shifts, then settles with a brief, quiet rustling that's otherwise the only sound in the room.

Poe doesn't have to wait long, which is something of a surprise. He half expected her to take her time double-checking the information The Resistance had gone to great lengths to obtain for just this purpose. General Organa had too much riding on this being a successful exchange to risk a dissatisfied party.

Tan Ma returns with a datapad, a rectangular container, and three shadows. Poe glances only briefly at the two guards and their ward before he accepts the pad, skimming the contents and confirming all is as agreed before pressing his thumb to the scanner. A moment later, the screen changes, informing him that his biometrics have been recognized and recorded. The datapad is returned in favor of the slim box and Tan Ma nods, clearly satisfied. "That is all. The prisoner is officially rescinded to your care."

"That's all?" Poe asks, looking at the narrow container in surprise. He'd expected more in the way of personal effects, not that he knows what he thought might be among them. One look at Tan Ma's frown is answer enough. "Thank you," he corrects, and then the prisoner in question is being brought forward. Poe takes stock.

It's been some time since he last saw Kylo Ren. He doesn't seem any smaller, despite the fact that he is bound with thick manacles at the wrist. His garb has been replaced with drab gray prison wear that looks like it's made out of something cheap and synthetic, though warm enough given the climate on this rock. There's a gravity cuff around his ankle, designed to inhibit running – the control will be in the box Tan Ma supplied him, according to the agreement – and another band around his neck, silver and lit with a small row of green lights under Ren's left ear. Like the cameras and electrical fields outside, the neural inhibitor is another precaution, but it doesn't work alone. He meets Poe's gaze, expression implacable, and the dark scar that bisects one half of his face makes him look as stark and unsettling as Poe remembers, even with the breathing device already in place.

"So," Poe says conversationally, belying the way his nerves prick with unease. "Time to move out."

 

* * *

 

They receive an armed escort all the way to the foot of The Reviler's loading ramp, the sentries slowing to a stop and then Poe comes to terms with the fact that the next leg of this mission is all on him. Not that he hasn't gotten used to the feeling; these sorts of especially important and incredibly dire situations seem to come his way with impressive regularity. Comes with the territory. At least he's got a droid and a war criminal for company this time around.

"This way," he says to Ren, his voice distorted through the filter of the breathing device. He's still half-debating whether he's going to need to step in and guide him up by the elbows like Tan Ma's guards had thus far, but turns out that's not necessary. Ren renders it all moot, stepping free of his sentries and proceeding directly up the ramp without any additional encouragement necessary. Poe musters one last nod of thanks to the escort and turns on his heel, a wary shadow to the other man.

At the top of the ramp they have to both stop as he reseals the entrance port, checking The Reviler's atmospheric controls and confirming everything is as airtight and shipshape as he left it. He deliberately resists the urge for any shifty sideways glances, for all that every inch of him is on alert. Ren's much less chatty than he remembers and he's not sure what that means. After all, Poe is sure the irony of this escapade isn’t lost on either of them. Satisfied that everything's good to go and no one's going to asphyxiate the moment they take off, Poe pulls the apparatus off his face and bites the bullet.

"Alright, so. Quarters are in here," Poe says, pressing a button and the passage into the interior of the freighter slides open with a pop. "You can take your breather off."

Ren makes a derisive sound, almost a snort. It's the first sound he's made so far. He moves his hands abruptly upward, and Poe realizes for the first time that the manacles around his wrists are also belted around him, restricting the movement of his arms. "No," he says flatly. "I can't."

"Well. Okay," Poe says, recalibrating his approach. "I can, then."

He steps forward cautiously and Ren inclines his head, allowing him to pull the device back off and over his head. Poe rocks back on his heels a little, surprised and a discomfited anew by the lack of pushback so far. Ren works his jaw the slightest bit, but otherwise, nothing. Without the device covering the lower half of his face, Poe realizes that up close there’s a strange sort of round softness that balances out the sharpness of Ren’s other features, hiding in the curve of his cheek and the frown of his mouth. He looks away, unwilling to stare.

Poe stows the breathing devices and gestures down the corridor, the slim box Tan Ma gave him tucked under his arm. "Come on."

The Reviler has been retrofitted explicitly for this mission, the cargo holds converted into a set of small living quarters. Albeit for Kylo Ren, living quarters that locked from the outside. They're otherwise designed squarely on the pleasant side of functional, a cot made up on one side of the room, a table bolted next to the storage bench across one wall, even a full refresher on the far side of the room and enough floor space for a good moody pace. Ren shows little interest in it all aside from a short glance around him, standing stiffly in the empty space in the middle of the room with eyes fixed on Poe. For his part, Poe wonders if this guy is always this hard to get a read on.

"You'll stay here," Poe explains, breaking the silence. "The trip will be a few days, but you'll be comfortable enough."

"It's just another prison cell," Ren says, and for the first time his expression flickers, his lip curling. "There's no difference."

"Isn't there?" Poe says, frowning. He doesn't turn his back on Ren, not fully, keeping him always in the periphery of his vision. He sets the box he'd been given on the small table and inputs the code to open it. He finds what he's looking for easily and closes the lid again, hearing the lock re-engage.

He approaches Ren, lifting up the key for him to see. "Hold out your hands."

Ren does, as far as he's able, and Poe focuses on sliding the key into its slot, loosening the manacles one at a time. On one hand, there's the part of him that's still on high alert at every moment, reflexively taking stock of every micro-movement Kylo Ren makes. He's not supposed to have cause for worry, and Poe knows he's been given good reason to trust the orders given to him and that things will go fine, but if there's anything his life has taught Poe, it's how to measure risk. In his experience, the man before him is the very embodiment of _risky._ He makes no movement for the gravity cuff at Ren’s ankle.

On the other hand, as the metal shackles fall off and the contraption is unbelted from Ren's waist, Poe also notices the red chafing at his wrists that doesn't look fresh, the dark circles under his eyes, and the flat hang of his hair. He feels a pang of – not pity, Poe thinks, frowning. He’s not inclined to pity this man. But it’s a feeling of something distantly sad, and he reflects uncomfortably that there may be some things he’ll have to say in his next report that the General may not enjoy reading. The bonds weigh heavy in Poe's hands as they come free and honestly that's as simple a descriptor as he can come up with for this man and his story– heavy.

"Funny how the tables turn, huh?" Poe says as he watches Ren rub at his wrists. He imagines the moment he leaves the room, Ren will be far more willing to embrace his new freedom of movement, but right now he's as much on guard as Poe is.

"Depends on your sense of humor," he responds, and it's still difficult to place his tone despite the lack of filter or modulator. The realization hits Poe a moment late that it's disuse at fault, rather than anything else.

"People always tell me mine's a little off-color," Poe replies, carefully pleasant, and hefts the shackles over his shoulder. He moves back to the table, collecting the rest of the things he brought into the room. It really is all business inside, no personal effects to speak of. "So. When's the last time you ate?"

"Today," Ren says cryptically, finally edging around the room. He makes toward the cot, where he sinks carefully to a seat on the edge of the mattress. It groans a little under his weight.

"Well," Poe begins slowly, rounding back towards the door. He can feel Ren's gaze track him across the room. "I'm sure you know flight rations are nothing exciting, but there's plenty. I'll get it sorted after we get into hyperspace."

Ren's laugh is unmistakably scathing, at odds with how he’s behaved thus far. "Right. It's not like Kylo Ren can expect gourmet room service."

Poe hesitates at the door as it springs open, one foot at the threshold and weighing the words lodged in his throat.

"Haven't you heard? Kylo Ren is dead."

 

* * *

 

It's reassuring to be back in open space, the stars bleeding into long brilliant streaks through the darkness as Poe finishes putting the flight plan calculations into reverse and the hyperdrive launches them into gear. The trip is longer than some, if only because some legs of it are by necessity sublight – there are large gaps of underexplored space between Inir and the Core Systems where there are simply no known hyperspace lanes. Poe doesn't expect it will be a problem; the journey out went smoothly enough despite the unexpected schedule conflict, and autopilot isn't completely off the table. It's just slower. Ten standard days slow.

"Except this time with more thrilling company," Poe mumbles, engaging the last of the automated settings. BB-8 burbles a question, and Poe shakes himself.

"Not you, Beebee," he says, getting up from the pilot's seat in what is definitely not a desire to avoid more questions from his curious astromech. "Keep an eye on things, will you? I've got to handle this."

Poe takes his time sorting through the supplies at the back of his side of the hold. There are a number of things he needs to grab, and he needs to stow up some of the more sensitive items the prison had afforded him, but most of all he appreciates the opportunity to think. Eventually, though, he's got to come to terms with the fact he operates better on action. It's sometimes better to just jump in and make the best of it.

He raps twice on the door before opening it and is relieved to find that Kylo Ren isn't laying in wait on the other side of it with any murderous intent. Rather, he's sitting upright on the cot still, though the mussed covers are indication enough that he wasn't like that a moment ago. Ren's hair hangs wet like he took advantage of the fresher and he looks as guarded as ever. Water droplets bead against his jaw and throat.

"Food," Poe says, holding up the ration tray. "Or what passes for it."

Ren doesn't respond, aside from discouragingly narrowed eyes. Poe presses onward undeterred.

"I'll just set that here for when you want it," Poe continues, making full use of the table again. "Also a few changes of clothes. They're probably not perfect, but they should fit. Might be a nice change, since you cleaned up. Just keep in mind usual water rationing when you–"

"–What are you doing?" Ren interrupts, and on second look Poe can see the resentment that's beginning to line his features, flushing his cheeks and making that scar look raw and angry. Some of the casualness Poe had deliberately affected leaks away and he squares his stance. He lets his hands hang loose at his side.

"What do you mean?" He gestures to the pile of supplies on the table, self-evident as they are. Or should be.

Ren sneers. "We can dispense with the niceties, Dameron. We both know I understand my position. What do you want from me?"

Poe regards him, his eyebrows drawing together. "Want from you?" he repeats. "I hate to disappoint you but, frankly: nothing."

"You made yourself perfectly clear earlier," he grates, his ill-used voice tripping rough over the syllables. His fists are clenched, knuckles a dangerous white; Poe feels his own hand start to gravitate toward the holster at his side when Ren rises to his feet. The gravi-cuff control is clipped right beside it, but his instincts  scream for the blaster. "So. What is it the Resistance wants from me while I'm still alive?"

"Still alive? Woah, woah, woah." Poe raises his palms, fingers spread in the universal sign of calm-the-fuck-down. Where had all this emotion been two hours ago? He eyes the green lights below Ren's ear. They still glow steady, but Poe knows better to rely on the neural inhibitor if he gets mad enough. "No one wants you dead. Didn't anyone tell you what this was about?"

"No," he snaps, and Poe rapidly recalculates what it is he's working with here. The last thing he wants is for this to erupt out of control, especially this early in the game.

"Okay, well explaining is also a thing that I can do," he says. "So how about this? You sit back down on your bed, and I'll sit here at the table, and we'll talk about it like two rational adults who, at this point, aren't looking to kill each other. Deal?"

Ren looks a little like he's smelled something foul, and Poe is surprised again about how expressive the guy's face is, especially given his earlier reticence. It reminds him of Finn, actually – maybe it has something to do with years spent hiding behind a mask. In the end, Ren sits.

"Your terms are acceptable," he says like they're anything but. Poe will take what he can get at this point. He mirrors Ren's position, sitting at the bench with his back to the wall. A gesture of good faith, he keeps his hands visible, resting his elbows on the table.

"Right, so we'll start with the basics. Kylo Ren, the figure in service of the First Order, has been declared officially dead, but given your actions there are no plans to execute _you_. My job is just to get you from one point to another, which would be way below my pay grade if not for the security issues surrounding your identity." Not that he'd joined the Resistance for the pay. They weren't exactly swimming in credits, even these days. War was expensive.

Ren tilts his head, processing the information. "What is our destination?"

Straight to the point then. Warily, Poe says, "The Jedi Temple is being rebuilt. That's where you'll be."

Kylo Ren stands abruptly and Poe immediately braces himself for action, but Ren just starts pacing irritably. "Luke Skywalker?"

"Rey," Poe says slowly. "She thinks she may be able to help you."

"Help me?" The sound he makes could be mistaken for amusement if it weren't so full of acid. "What exactly could she hope to teach me?"

Poe leans back, deliberately dropping a hand to the bench beside him. "I don't know. Something about anger management?"

"Oh yes, _meditation_ ," Ren snaps as he rounds directions across the room. His footsteps fall heavy and loud, filling the small space with their echoes. "So helpful."

"Listen," Poe says, feeling his patience beginning to fray. It's hard to stay calm with Ren barrelling back and forth across the room with badly restrained agitation. "You're being offered a chance, and a pretty generous one if you ask me. The General–" Poe pauses and then decides, to hell with it, might as well acknowledge the bantha in the room. "Your mother–"

That's enough to spark a whole other level of emotion, apparently, because Kylo Ren pivots faster than Poe can blink, his face twisted in fury around the scar that segments his face. His fist slams into the surface of the table he sits at and Poe is immediately on his feet, blaster raised in one hand and pressing button that activates the gravi-cuff control with the other. Ren staggers at the sudden magnetization that locks his foot to the floor and nearly topples. He grips the edge of the table to right himself, eyes flashing as he glares furiously at Poe.

"Don't you dare bring her into this," Ren hisses, pushing himself back upright and leaning forward like someone who is used to extorting his height to intimidate people into doing what he wants. Poe has seen it used a thousand times, by any number of beings convinced of their own importance. It's not impressive.

"She's kind of already in it," Poe reminds him, and, relatively confident that the gravi-cuff is doing its trick, slowly lowers his blaster. He doesn't holster it.

Ren stares down his nose, imperious. It'd have quite the effect, if Poe was accustomed to being browbeat into anything. "I don't care."

"Sure. That's why you dented the table," Poe snaps back, and is given only a deepened scowl in return. "Whatever. It comes down to this: there are a few people in this galaxy who happen to think what you did to help us win against the First Order and Snoke matters enough to make a difference. All this? Is about getting you back to those people, but – and this may surprise you – there are some concerns that you might get different ideas about where you want to go."

That's another nerve touched, because Ren seizes the ration tray Poe brought in and hurls it at the wall. Not toward him, which is a relief, but across the room, where it smacks against the fresher door, splitting the lid and sending the food inside spilling across the room.

"I'm not running," he seethes.

Poe can feel the way the muscles in his own back are locked with anger and it takes every fragment of self-restraint he has to stymie it. Slowly and as flippantly as he can, he shoves his blaster back into its place at his hip and brushes his hands together like he's washing them of this whole situation. "The journey back is another nine days from today. We're well supplied with enough rations but I'm not wasting any on your tantrums. This is your room and you can live in it how you choose."

Poe meets Ren's gaze and doesn't flinch at what he sees there. "Trust me when I say you're going to probably hear this a lot. Clean up your own mess."

He turns his back and leaves. He doesn’t hit the release on the gravi-cuff until he’s far down the hall, the door to Ren’s quarters locked securely behind him.

 

* * *

 

There's not a lot to do on the freighter that he hasn't already exhausted. Poe's used to spending time alone while flying, but being an X-wing pilot at least usually involves being out with his squadron, his people only a short glance from the viewport away and their chatter a constant buzz in his ear. He checks the controls and rechecks the flight data, just for something to do despite the fact he's already done it a dozen times. He picks up his datapad and inputs some quick notes for his report later, even though he's not quite ready to get into it. They've got a solid day or two before they'll both drop back out of lightspeed and be a system where radiation interference won't automatically jam every transmission at the same time, but Poe's got some weird hunches about Tan Ma's everything and he wants to jot them down before he loses them.

Before long though he loses interest in that, still irritable from the encounter with Kylo Ren and attention drifting. BB-8 is on standby mode, and Poe isn't quite sure what he'd do even if the droid wasn't.

In the end, he calls it quits, too restless to focus and bored to the point of irritation. Poe goes aft, bypassing the entrance to Ren's quarters with gritted teeth and heading toward the space he's made his own for this trip.

He sleeps badly. Kylo Ren wanders through his dreams like a ghost.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I'd love to hear what you thought; comments are always appreciated.
> 
> You can also find me in a multi-fandom mess [on tumblr](http://chelliaphra.tumblr.com).


End file.
